The King of Everything
by looloobear
Summary: Essentially an unexpected reunion and  connection formed  between Seto and Joey, set years after the series ends. Told from Seto's POV as he slowly has to come to terms with himself and the rest of his life.
1. things that don't change

There was a big fat streak, off center. Mokuba made it by wiping the condensation from the window with his finger.

It was there about 5 minutes. Driving me crazy. I leaned over him and wiped the whole window clean. He gave me a funny look as I moved back to my seat but said nothing. He looked down at his screen of his phone and fired off another text message.

"Who are you texting?"

Mokuba looked up at me briefly, annoyed. "No one".

I grunted. He sighed.

"Just a girl I know."

Well fine then. The limo pulled up to a stop.

I waited for my driver to open the door. As I climbed out Mokuba followed me, still distracted. The driver closed the door, climbed in the front seat and went to park the limo. I remained still for another moment, waiting for Mokuba to stand next to me. He stopped beside me, smiling and moving his fingers along the keys of his phone. I waited another moment, and he put it away.

"Ready?" he asked me, nodding at the entrance before us. I grunted and began to walk forward.

There was a security guard standing in front of the grand doorway before us, but he didn't bother check his list. He looked at me and nodded, pushing the doors open for Mokuba and I. The inside was massive, with a looming ceiling and packed floor of chatty rich people. It was loud, but controlled. Or rather it was reserved and polite. The guests were all expensively dressed and sipped mixed drinks in between small talk.

Five minutes in and Mokuba had already wandered off. I was meanwhile avoiding the center of the room, staying off to the edges and cautiously looking for the host. I found him sometime later, standing next to a younger girl in a ruby red dress.

"Good evening Mr. Fitzroy".

He looked up at me suddenly, his face flushed. "Mr. Kaiba!" he exclaimed, "I'm so glad you could make it!" He slapped me on the shoulder and the girl looked to each of us, her eyes moving back and forth, not sure who she should be paying more attention to.

Fitzroy is a jovial and wealthy drunk as well as an enthusiastic investor. He stopped slapping my shoulder long enough to take a lengthy sip from his wine glass. The girl spoke up.

"What a delight this is!" she squealed, "I can't believe I'm finally getting to meet you, Mr. Kaiba," and she extended a bony hand, which I eventually grasped, feeling the uncomfortable sensation of her many rings digging into my flesh.

"Ah yes! How rude of me, not to introduce you!" chirped Fitzroy. "Mr. Kaiba, this is the most enchanting-" he stopped to wink at her "Maggie-Lynn Sommers".

As far as I am concerned, Maggie-Lynn was a classless name - some terrible American concoction, born of a godforsaken cotton field somewhere in the south. I nodded abruptly at her.

"My pleasure, I'm sure". She darted her eyes again, until they settled on me for a moment. She smiled. "But if you do excuse me, I'll be off". I took my first step backwards. Maggie-Lynn frowned momentarily.

"Pleasure to see you!" shouted Fitzroy as I departed. I turned my head, just long enough to halfheartedly respond.

"Lovely party" I called in response.

I felt as though I had completed my obligatory duty.

I made a beeline for the bar, not because I wanted to drink, but because I wanted to look busy without actually having to talk to anyone. It was a long walk.

A young girl in a pressed white shirt, black bowtie and pants nearly dropped her tray of h'ors d'ouevres on me. Luckily I pushed her away in time and they instead fell on the floor.

But it seemed the servers were everywhere, with their lukewarm, bite sized food and flimsy trays.

I walked right into the back of another one. He stumbled and fell to his knees.

I sighed, heavily, straightened my shirt and bent down to offer him a hand. Too late though, he was already back on his feet.

I looked him in the face. I was surprised, certainly.

I had the unpleasant sensation of looking at a ghost. A very mangy ghost.

He smiled a little at me.

"Well excuse me sir!' he said tauntingly, in that horrendous accent. I cringed.

I looked down to pick a piece of lint off my shirt. The insult leaned forward, ready to slide of the tip of my tongue. I took a breath and held it back, settling for an understated disregard instead.

I looked up, ready to stare him down until he scurried away like a little dog.

He looked straight at me.

I searched frantically for the insult, annoyed that he would be so bold with me. I had lost it and instead resorted to a cryptic slur.

"Well some things never change, " I spat out. He cocked his head at me, raising a fine eyebrow.

"I'm sorry sir, have we met?" He smiled at me like a demon.

Fuck you Joey Wheeler.

I left the party early, about 2 hours later. Mokuba wanted to stay, mostly for the free drinks.

My limo driver took me back to an empty mansion. I climbed the flights of stairs until I was at the top floor, and then I walked to the very end of the hallway, took a right and pushed open my bedroom door.

The air inside was chilly and my curtains were already drawn. I kept the light off, took off my jacket, belt, and shoes and then walked across the room into my bed.

It was Saturday when I woke up. Not that the days of the week made much of a difference to me. I started each one the same.

I was at my desk on the computer.

The sun was still buried somewhere beneath the sky.

It was late morning when Mokuba came and knocked sluggishly at my door. He didn't wait for me to say come in.

I heard something plop on my bed. I didn't look over.

He made some awful groaning noise.

"Exactly how hung-over are you?"

Mokuba was quiet for a moment. "Very".

"And was it really worth it?"

He moved behind me then, rested his head on my left shoulder, half watching me type.

"Indeed it was-" he picked up a nearby paperweight and tossed it in his hand. "So how was your night?"

I didn't answer. He left the room a few minutes later.


	2. Seto's world

I try to go into the office at least five times a week, although, between the hundreds of idiots working for me, that number is usually higher.

Today was no different. I had arrived at the Kaiba corp. building at around 9 in the morning and left at nearly 7 pm.

My secretary called out to me as I walked out the door. She wasn't saying anything important so I ignored her and continued on my way out. I hadn't called my limo driver yet. There was a burger place where Mokuba liked to eat from time to time just a few blocks away. It was nice enough night.

There weren't a whole lot of people out on the city streets around this time. Everything looks a little lonely, with the occasional noisy restaurant, bursting with enough life to fill the sidewalks for miles and miles.

The place is called Bobby's. It's not a very creative name, but that's fine. I hate seeing people vest so much energy into a tacky name. The interior, once I walked in and a little bell rang, looked a little greasy, filmy. I wiped my hand against the side of my coat after touching the door handle. On either side of me were people at tables, laughing and eating. I suppose you're meant to share places like that with friends.

They have a counter out in front of the kitchen, with a little cash register set up and a menu written in chalk on the wall above. A girl stood behind the counter, with red hair pushed up inside a paper cap. She rubbed sleepily at the freckles on her face. "What can I get for you tonight?" she asked. She looked thoroughly unimpressed with me. Tonight I didn't mind.

I ordered something that sounded fattening and monstrous. I asked for it to go.

She brought it out a few minutes later, concealed inside a white styrofoam box. I opened the box, and inspected the burger. It looked greasy and lopsided. I left.

I walked all the way back to the Kaiba corp. building where the limo waited or me.

Once at home, I asked one of the maids to find Mokuba for me. She reported back, some 5 minutes later to say he wasn't home. I looked down at the Styrofoam box and eventually left it on the counter, with a note saying for Mokuba, saying I picked up some dinner for him.

I don't know when he got home, but when I woke up at 5 the next morning, the box was gone as was the burger. Mokuba didn't usually wake up until well past when the sun had risen and so I rarely saw him in the morning.

I looked again at the counter and noticed the grubby little sticky note from the night before was stuck near the sink and had Mokuba's writing on it. It read "Sorry was out late with some friends last night, thanks for the dinner. I ate it for breakfast. P.S. I've got people coming over tonight. You have been warned."

I scowled. I'll be the first to admit my aversion to having company over. Privacy, I have learned though the years, is invaluable. But we fought over this often. And I didn't like fighting with Mokuba. So I left the house and planned to work late.

I arrived around 6 in the morning, and only my decent employees were in the building. I nodded at the few I passed but did not say hello. The elevator ride up to my office was always longest in the morning I had found. The box crept slowly past each floor, afraid to wake anything up.

The big glass windows from my office showed off the sky, and the sun pushed passed the surface of the city and made everything glow for a moment or two. But all I had was a moment or two to watch it. I liked to lean back in my desk chair to watch the sun rise. I let my neck stretch against the chair back and extended both my arms so they fell over the armrests. Then the sun was up and it was over. I turned my chair around, leaned forward and began to type. My

I'm used to long days, and am even able to enjoy the sensation of using up time. Another hour in the office means another hour I won't be home by myself or worse, home hiding from Mokuba's rowdy friends. I don't have to talk to reporters at press conferences, I don't have to shake hands with strange men at parties. I could sit behind my desk and develop software all day, listening to only the comforting click of typing.

I mentioned this to Mokuba once. He told me I needed to get out.

During the half hour I took as a lunch break, he called me on my cell phone.

"Bonjour!" he said. I told him that he didn't know how to speak French. I heard him sigh on the other line.

"Whatcha up to?" he asked. I told him I was going to go back to work in a few minutes.

We were both quiet.

"well.." he began "I've got some people coming over later. Hope that's okay with you!" I muttered something.

"Who?" I asked finally. I could feel his pause.

"Oh you know. Some old friends. I ran into Joey Wheeler at that party the other day! I haven't seen him in ages!" and he laughed nervously.

I rubbed my temple. "If you are planning on bringing _him _into our home, then at least come out and say it".

Mokuba was quiet or a moment. "Joey, Yugi, you know, that crowd. They're all coming. "

I pressed a knuckle into the center of my forehead and said "You're an adult. Do what you want."

"It'll be fun. Don't worry. "

I was quick to declare that I would be working late. He waited until I almost told him I needed to go and hung up, but last second he chimed in, "You know Seto, I'd like it if you were here. I think it would be good for you to have something outside of work".

I bit my tongue. I didn't lash back. Instead I kept holding the phone to my ear and took it, in ready to spit it all out the second he was off the line.


	3. Be our Guest!

It was earlier than I expected, the time that I arrived home. I came in around 10 pm, not nearly late enough to guarantee an empty house. The whole day crept by slowly until I couldn't bear it anymore. So I left for home with the naïve hope that maybe Mokuba had decided to play nice and take everyone out to dinner rather than entertain at home.

Of course I was wrong. I knew I'd be wrong.

I tried my best to sneak in through the back door. I could hear laughter coming from the main living room.

The main staircase upstairs was located just past the living room and so I had to pass by the doorway to get to it. I was quiet and careful not to squeak my shoes or even let my coat whoosh behind me. Mokuba must have been on the look out for me because as soon as I started to inch by the opening he stopped me.

"Seto!" he exclaimed, and I felt all the eyes of the room turn to look at me. I didn't smile at him. I glared coldly around the room. "Come in and join us" he insisted. I frozenly walked with him into the center of the room. The first person I noticed was Yugi, mostly because of his ridiculous hair. He was standing next to the brown haired girl. Everyone was smiling at me and it felt awful.

Mokuba gently guided me into one of the armchairs as everyone else took their seats again. We were all silent for a few minutes. I dug my fingernails against my palms.

Yugi broke the silence, his voice an annoyingly high register. "So Seto, I see you have kept busy!"

"Running a multi-million dollar company is time consuming." I answered curtly. He smiled feebly at me. Yugi then leaned forward out of his seat towards, the seat across from him. "Joey didn't you mention running into Seto a few days ago?" he asked naively. I cringed. Discreetly, I did my best to glance at the chair. I first noticed the tasteless and ill fitting jeans and scruffy sneakers. I watched him squirm in his chair. His face was red.

"He was at a party I was working at." He stated nonchalantly, only a barely detectable note of panic.

"That's funny Wheeler, I thought you hadn't recognized me. "

He looked over at me now and narrowed his eyes.

"A momentary mistake. You've aged a lot in the last few years,"

I silently fumed at the dig. The grownup inside of me restrained myself. Tempting as it was to throw out a dog comment, I kept it to myself.

The room went quiet again.

This time the brown haired girl spoke. "This is really a beautiful house!"

I realized she was addressing me. I nodded.

"I hired a decorator." I told her.

"Oh", she said.

Another boy, Wheeler's friend spoke up. He was talking to Mokuba.

"You got any more of these cheese thingies?" he said holding up a tiny cube of cheese on a toothpick. Mokuba left the room to get more food, and I was left alone, feeling like I was facing a pack of hungry wolves. They all stared at me intently, with the exception of Wheeler who gazed off at the door Mokuba has walked out of.

I crossed my legs and folded my hands in my lap, easing back into the chair and trying to relax. Although I was rarely at ease, being around these people made me feel even worse. After another moment or so the brown haired girl and Yugi began chatting amongst themselves, while Wheeler turned to the only other girl in the room and said something quietly into her ear. She laughed. For a moment, I thought maybe she was his girlfriend, and then I recalled something about his sister, and realized that was who she was. Wheeler's friend would occasionally make passes at the girl. Mokuba should have been back by now.

Mokuba walked in sheepishly, avoiding my eyes and holding a platter of cheese cubes and pineapples and other things. He set the platter down on the coffee table in the center of the room and slithered back to his seat. Everyone immediately sprang up for food, Wheeler and his friend being the most enthusiastic about it. . I wasn't hungry. I sat back and watched them, not trying particularly hard to hide my contempt.

Socializing with people you do not like is a particularly long and arduous process. I suppose this makes my life especially difficult, considering I do not like most people. If my job were more menial, I'd be more than happy to live my life as an incurable introvert and never attend another ridiculous party or business lunch again. As I recall, I had never bothered treating Yugi's ragtag group of friends with much respect, and old habits die-hard.

I stopped dueling years ago. I thought that if I stopped, I could finally cut the cord between all of that juvenile nonsense that seemed to keep edging it's way into my life. After that, I rarely ran into Yugi Moto, and that was fine with me. But sitting with all of them now made me indescribably uncomfortable. They had all changed, mostly looking older, (with only slightly more sensible haircuts). But there was something distinctly the same about all of them, something that made me squirm and feel like I was back to being a miserable teenager. Yugi looked younger than he should have; He was round faced and bright eyed as ever. Still short as well. Out of all of them he had been my biggest competitor, and I supposed that even now I still owed him some meager form of respect. I wasn't so much interested in any of the others, besides Wheeler that is. Not to say I was interested in him- just that I clearly recall him being a useless scoundrel and well, I was a bit curious about where he was in life, especially after our little run in. The best approach, I thought, would to be snide towards him but not outwardly rude. Now that I was so firmly rooted in my adulthood, I had to be subtler about mistreating people.

"I'm curious, what exactly have all of you been doing these years?" I asked to the room. People seemed a little surprised since I had been almost completely silent up until this point. The brown haired girl, who I really could have cared less about, was of course the first to answer.

"Well I teach a dance class for children," she offered. I nodded as if I was actually absorbing the information. Yugi was the next to speak up.

"Well I'm still dueling quite a bit-" he began. I bit down on my tongue a bit. Of course I had seen him all over the news, "and also I've taken over the card shop." I nodded to this too. It was a predictable route for him to take. No one else responded for some time, which annoyed me because I really I was interested in what Wheeler was going to say. I looked at him, expecting something. He was staring away from me. Finally the curiosity got the best of me.

"You're not sharing with us Wheeler?"

He jerked a little and looked at me sharply. "Well you know," he said "some odd jobs here and there. Saving up some money to hopefully go back to school" I smiled a little. There was a forced note of pride in his voice that I was all too familiar with.

The rest of the evening passed faster, mostly because instead of long silence there was amicable chat between everyone excluding me. I was fine with that. This went on until the clock showed that it was well past midnight. People began to push themselves up out of their chairs and say their goodbyes.

"Hey thanks for having us over Mokuba!" Wheeler's friend said cheerfully. The brown haired girl and Yugi followed suit as they were guided out the back door Wheeler and his sister stood awkwardly in the room with me. I had stood up along with everyone else, giving small, curt waves to them as they left. The two of them were talking quietly to each other and I took the opportunity to listen in.

"Are you going home with Tristan?" Wheeler asked her forcefully.

"Well I was going to just stay there for the night…"

He said something low that I didn't quite catch and the sister smiled a little bit before leaving through the back door past Mokuba. I wasn't sure why Wheeler was still here.

We both stood, about five feet apart, trying not to look at each other. Suddenly Wheeler spoke out to me.

"Hey listen Kaiba," he began, earnestly "I'm sorry about being a dick earlier. I guess after all these years I really don't know how to talk to you. " He laughed nervously. I glanced over to him. He was talking more to the floor than to me. The space between us for far enough for the conversation to be awkward, but I didn't dare move closer. I realized that it was my turn to say something. I was caught off-guard and on the brink of saying something dismissive. For some reason though, I held my tongue.

"It's…fine. Let's just…" I paused, "agree to put the past behind us".

I didn't mean to but I ended up making eye contact with Wheeler and he smiled at me. He had the warm and genuine smile of a good friend, the kind that I never had. The smile made me uncomfortable because it was the kind of smile that expected to be reciprocated. Although I am good at most things, but smiling is not one of them.

He held that smile for a long time, waiting for me to respond. I finally settled for moving half of my mouth. I don't know exactly what facial expression I made, but it seemed to do the trick because he finally stopped. There was another stretch of him jus standing there, doing nothing. I wondered if Mokuba was still waiting for him by the door, to usher him away like a good host. I was about to ask if he was leaving soon when Mokuba walked back in. I could feel him look back and forth between the two of us, and then searching my face for some sign of a confrontation. He stood near Joey.

"There's a room ready for you upstairs, I'll show you the way," said Mokuba as he gestured for Wheeler to follow him. I looked up and saw Mokuba looking at me defiantly, waiting for me to say something. I blinked at him. For the second time that night, I held my tongue, and waited for five minutes until Mokuba had come back without Wheeler.

"I thought I had a strict no pets policy," I said casually. He glared at me.

"So much for putting the past behind you, " he muttered. I didn't usually get angry with my brother but this was one of those times. I took a few long, quick steps over to him to hiss in his ear.

"You purposely bring _him _into our home, give me no warning and expect me to be happy about it!"

Mokuba looked at me calmly, pulling his face back from mine. "Had I given you warning you would have thrown a hissy fit. I decided to save myself the anguish."

My face was hot and I felt strangely embarrassed. My younger brother was calling me out and I really, really hated that. Mokuba looked at me sympathetically.

"Seto, he really needs a place to stay and you need to-"

I cut him off. "Need to? I need to what?" I spat out furiously.

Mokuba moved his chin to his neck and looked at me sternly. "You need to take a fucking chill pill for starters," he raised an eye brow at me, "and stop taking my inviting a friend into _our _house as a personal attack."

Mokuba cocked his head to the side, the way he used to all the time when he was a little boy. It didn't make him seem young now, it made him seem old. But I was the one feeling old. I felt old and tired and I just wanted my house to myself.


	4. In My Mind

** Note: I will just assume that mistakes of the grammatical nature have been made in this document. I have not updated in a very long time and felt that I needed to just write it out and get it published or it would never happen. **

It was late when I finally went to bed, technically into the early morning. I had stayed up later than I had intended to, sitting quietly in the kitchen and chewing on carrot sticks. I was more unnerved than I should have been, and this fact embarrassed me. I felt like a young boy again, freshly scolded by Gozaburo. My mind raced. I thought of buying a smaller house somewhere remote far away from the streets of Domino and far away from my past.

The final crunch of the last carrot stick was what triggered my return to reality. I exhaled with the shaky relief of someone who had narrowly escaped death. My face had become hot again from my own shame. I felt so young, so painfully young and it was in a sharp contrast to the old and feeble feeling that had wracked me hours before. I thought of what Wheeler must think of me, petty and immature. As soon as the thought passed my mind- _What would Wheeler think?_ I froze. I laughed, muted but sincere. I hadn't laughed in some time, not spontaneously anyway. Maybe a well-timed chortle at the calculated joke of an important business partner but that was just a nicety. When did I become this sad man who hid in his big kitchen and was flustered by juvenile acquaintances? The answer was there, sitting sadly in the dark. I had always been this man. The grand ego I had cultivated in my earliest youth was being replaced by a hard and dry film that settled over every facet of my existence, making me musty and subdued.

Self-analysis was a valuable tool in my world of business but in all honesty I tried quite hard to keep it away from the more personal components of my life. I found it foolish and problematic to always be looking in the mirror. If I could see myself I might have to run. But my mind was always has a way of stepping away and staring at itself.

I'd trade all this money to be an ignorant fool any day. Where have a gone, now just another wistful adult?

I pushed away and sat up from the stool that I had jammed into the corner of the island, realizing just now that the corner had jabbed into my stomach. The walk up the staircase, down the corridor and into my bedroom was cathartic. My thoughts were stilled by the movement of my feet and weight of my body moving through the air. I felt more limber now, more aware of my muscles contracting and expanding, more aware of the buzz in my brain. It offered me a quiet helping of sanity that I was so often deprived of. These strange and nonsensical feelings seemed only to exist in the night, during the most sparse and strangled hours. The awareness was growing sharper as I thought about how this would all be a silly blur of emotion and dreaminess in the morning.

I wasn't surprised to be awake well before Mokuba. What really shocked me was to go downstairs to find Wheeler in my kitchen. I assumed he would sleep until late morning. He was sitting in the same stool I had sat in last night. I stopped in the doorway and looked at him quietly, waiting for him to do something. He yawned. I frowned.

"Wheeler."

"Oh," he looked up, "heya".

Something in the air made me feel acutely underdressed. Wheeler looked messy as ever with his straw hair plastered on his forehead. My eyes focused in on the dirt beneath his fingernails. I rested one of my hands against the wall and stared hard at his hands until I felt the pressure build behind my eyes.

"You gonna sit down?"

In hindsight my approach was all wrong, I should have committed, glided over to my seat as if I was one step ahead of him.

I instead stepped cautiously and slowly towards the island stools, guarded like a stray.

I over-think things though. Yes. Yes Mokuba has told me this before.

On my stool, I felt a little tipsy, like I was balancing on top of a narrow point. Wheeler had his knees facing me.

"You been getting enough sleep?" Wheeler grunts when he asks questions.

I didn't expect that. Silly question to entertain.

"Enough," I think about ending my response here, but continue on anyway, trying to loosen the hinges on my mouth until I feel human. "Enough to keep me alive at least. That's what matters." I follow the line of Wheeler's nose with my eyes. "Isn't it?"

I don't really want an answer from him.

He snorts a little. "You've never heard the phrase quality of life, have you, Kaiba?"

I can almost appreciate this, Wheeler's wry little remark. I had designed my life for efficiency. I was not bitter about it. But something in Wheeler's voice made me feel like any other tired man, weary under the pains of life. I think perhaps if we had been in a bar with uneven piano chords playing behind us, I would have smiled.

But I got up. I told him he could eat from the fridge. I left the room.

I had deduced that it was not Wheeler who was unsettling me, but rather some larger force in my life. I wondered if maybe, because my destiny had seemed to be on such an accelerated track, if I was having my mid-life crisis in my twenties. The thought depressed me.

When Mokuba first walked into my home office, chipper as ever, he made a remark about it.

"You seem a little off recently." He said these words right at me but immediately turned his head as if he had actually been addressing the handsome wall clock. It was not a question and I chose not to respond. He waited.

"Just a bit dazed. Less um controlled."

I blinked and tensed my fingers up at my keyboard. I experienced a brief and indulgent vision of my control physically slipping out of my fingers.

"Are you feeling alright?"

"Fine."

"Yes but are you alright?"

I knew I owed Mokuba some substantial answer. I am so rich but I always feel like I am clawing my way out of debt.

"I think, Mokuba, I need some more sleep."

And he knows this doesn't mean I will go upstairs and take a nap. But I need a nap. But this is just another need floating over my head and out into the wind.

I had gotten so little work done. I was doing something akin to daydreaming, although it was rather involuntary on my part. I thought about myself as I had been a decade or so ago. In many ways I was just an image assigned to that vague idea called the future. Companies latched onto myself and Kaiba Corp hoping we'd drag them along into the light.

I had an impressive reputation as a duelist. I remember hating Yugi, hating him with an intensity that is only earned by your equals or superiors. I was more of a media figure then than now. Despite being a genius and powerful CEO, my role as a public figure had more to do with my looks and status as a duelist than any other accomplishments. I didn't dwell on it at the time.

I had a particular distaste for people like Wheeler- the born-to be hero types. Stupid and brave with a brashy sort of swagger that seems larger than life, and the pitiful origins keeping the whole package grounded. Wheeler rode that fine line between being an annoyance and being captivating. I tried to trace my deep distain for him back to its source but I had distained so many people in my short lifetime that all of it is melded together now. But he's calmed down now. Easily recognizable as the adult version of his teenage self. I've calmed down too.

After I stopped dueling the company expanded into some other industries as well. I stopped caring about the blue eyes white dragon. I remember that., the morning I woke up and realized I just didn't care about it anymore. I marked it in a calendar. I thought for a moment (and I still am embarrassed by this) that maybe it meant that I had become an adult- not caring anymore. The first time I had thought I was an adult was when Gozaboro died. The second was when Mokuba asked me about the sex. The blue eyes was the third.

I was not working. I was not functioning. I was mulling over little threads that had held my life together for years now, combing through each one like I was looking for gold. And maybe I was, looking for gold that is. Always in search of profit, how like me that sounds.

Wheeler opened my office door. I snapped at him. I used some insult after he replied indignantly. He is a ghost. I believe in ghosts, yes. I am by all means a fool in my beliefs. I am haunted. I suspect, knowing what I know about ghosts, that one way or another, Wheeler will not leave me be.

As he walked away I called out and asked him what he had needed. He came back in, red in the face. I had my chair swiveled to face him as he reentered the room, my hands folded silently in my lap. He laughed upon seeing me, shaking his head.

"God Kaiba, when are we gonna grow up?"

I can feel myself smile.

"You know, I came in here because I was about to leave, and I thought I should come back, you know, say something about why we never got along, make peace, admit my deepest darkest secrets, yadda yadda," Wheeler itches his knuckles and speaks to everything in the room but me. "But then, then I realized, as I was walking away and you were insulting me, it aint ever gonna be like that Kaiba, you know? It's always gonna be the dumb petty shit."

I don't say anything for moments. Wheeler looks at me, expecting.

"I never found out why you needed a place to stay."

He is visibly surprised. I know I have disappointed him.

"Oh. Split with a girl. Shared an apartment. You know." Wheeler speaks in short sentences punctuated by shrugs.

"What you find a place already?"

"Just gonna stay with my sister and mom for a while. Haven't seen them in so long. Maybe even look for a place up where they are, you know, get out of Domino."

"Oh." Wheeler shrugs again. "You get work a lot?"

"Christ Kaiba," he exclaims with a dismay that surprises me. "Look I know you don't think much of my, but I'm not just some lowly catering boy okay? I got...things…going on for me. Okay?"

And I say okay. Because I know it's okay. Wheeler is the hero, he is always okay.

Wheeler turned again to leave. "You know Wheeler," I am back facing my screen but felt his eyes on my head, "We were almost just cordial to each other."

There was silence from him for a moment and I wondered if that was how I made people feel, always holding back my words and information.

He laughed then, suddenly and richly.

"Damnit Kaiba!" He said through the laughs "Sometimes I don't get you, and sometimes I'm glad for it".

"Well, you wouldn't.

"You're an asshole" he said. I kept typing. "Hey Kaiba". I craned my neck backwards, looking at Wheeler through my reading glasses. "I didn't ever hate you."

"Hating a person is a waste of energy, you're better off to maximize your time."

We looked at each other again.

"Hey look, I'll see you around, okay?"

He's hopeful.

I let my neck sink into the back of my chair as he left the room.


	5. Fancy Meeting You Here

**If you have taken the time to read this far, I would really appreciate reviews. The more constructive, the better! **

I had assumed, somewhere in the back of my mind, that Joey's departure would bring me relief, but instead it made me antsy. My brain felt dry and jittery. My thoughts kept drifting back to moments of my past. I remembered, at one point, that Wheeler had quite a reputation as a drinker in high school. I never went to the parties, but I heard the stories. This train of thought brought me back to a particularly pungent memory of Gozaburo telling me as a young boy that "a man must know how to hold his liquor". For the next two years he proceeded give me hard liquor with the instruction to "drink up". I always obeyed. I threw up, of course, became woozy to the point where I thought I must pass out, but with time my body learned to keep it down.

He was so afraid, I remember he was always afraid, well paranoid rather. Paranoid about all the rest of the world. He said the best cure for fear was control. Building up something of a tolerance for heavy alcohol was just another way to always be in control. Although to this day I don't care for drink, I make a point to drink in front of formal company, to drink heavily and to not let it cloud my senses. I have no doubt that these other old-timey business men think like Gozaburo.

Gozaburo was quite obsessed with cleanliness. I remember him always checking my fingernails for dirt. He hated the thought of sweat or oils on the body, and so I was frequently ordered to wash my face when it appeared shiny in any way. He also had an acute taste for symmetry and order, especially in a person's appearance. As a boy my natural tendency was to smile with one side of my mouth more than the other. He hated this. I recall sitting in front of a large mirror, I think it might have been in my room, Mokuba was next to me. I would smile in the mirror, trying to make both sides of my mouth go up at the same time, but it never came as easily as it should have. I would ask Mokuba "Is this a good smile?". It was never a very good smile though, and so I opted for a very symmetrical frown instead.

I would wander down these long trails of memory and things that, in a more social context would even be anecdotal until I had exhausted myself. Wheeler did have a way of making my head race. I pondered this for a while one night. I was more objective towards him than I had been before. It made more sense now. Wheeler's life was probably a close match to what my life would have been had I not been adopted by Gozaburo. At the orphanage I was already a lowly member of one of the gangs that ran rampant throughout. It was run by some of the older boys, the ones with ugly mugs that were unadoptable. Myself and some of the other young boys got to tag along with them and gained their protection in exchange for doing their chores and pledging our loyalty. A lot of the time, these boys would turn 18 and, with nowhere else to go and no one to take care of them, the sheltered gangs of the orphanage grew to full-blown gangs of the streets.

I stopped for a moment, how did I know that about Wheeler's past? I tried to remember who had mentioned it to me, was it Mokuba? I assumed it was and put the thought to rest as I slipped into sleep and away from all of my trailing thoughts.

It was two more months before I saw Wheeler again. I had made the assumption that Mokuba kept in contact with him, but I never heard anything of it. It was a Friday night and I was due to attend another investor social event- the kind where all the high powered men bring women that are too young for them and everyone drinks scotch. I hadn't been there for more than an hour when one of my men, Downes it was, introduced me to a woman. The first thing I took note of was here sandy hair, pulled off her face so that just her bangs hung down. The second thing I noticed were here eyes. Set at the wrong angle and just a shade too dark, they nonetheless had the same deer like effect of another acquaintance. As soon as the thought registered with me I felt heat rush to my face. My lips were so chapped. Palms sweaty. She talked. I forgot most of it, aside from making note that her father was one of the company lawyers. She talked and I wandered through images of Wheeler in my mind. I wondered if the embarrassment showed on my face at all. I doubted it, since I was rarely one to become physically flustered, In hindsight, she did not look like Wheeler so much as I initially thought. Like I said, her eyes were wrong. Her hair was neater too and her features were fuzzier, more rounded and of course more womanly. Yet there was something about the brush of freckles on her cheekbones and the curve of her mouth and nose that made me shudder. Panicked I tried to find a part of her that wouldn't remind me of Wheeler. My eyes dropped down to her neck and across her chest, forgetting for a moment how rude I was, yet relieved that her similarities to Wheeler had ended.

She pointedly met my gaze. "Enough small talk already" she purred, "Let's say we get out of here." The next sip from her wine glass was highly suggestive.

I swallowed, feeling a little sick. "I'm sorry madam. I have previous engagements". With that I turned and left the building, not bothering to so much as glance all the important people I had needed to talk to.

When I was out of the building, I decided to hail a cab rather than call my limo. I felt sleazy somehow and the cab seemed more apt to absorb this feeling and string it out of my system. I made my way out to a busier road and by the sidewalk stuck my arm. No one was stopping. Finally one of them pulled up. I opened the door and slid inside, adjusting my coat beneath me. The driver turned back.

"Fancy meeting you here, huh?". Wheeler. I almost gasped out loud.

He was turned backwards to look at me, right arm draped behind the passenger seat.

"Wheeler."

"So, uh, where's your usual ride?". He had already pulled away from the curb.

I lied quickly. "I gave my driver the day off."

"Aww Kaiba, careful now, don't be too generous with those people or they'll think you have a heart"

There was a certain note in Wheeler's voice that made me not want to respond with another attack. He was almost playful. I let myself slump against the backseat and said nothing.

"You're going home, right?" Wheeler interjected.

"Yes."

It was silent except the low hum of a radio station Wheeler had put on. I strained to hear the music, hoping to distract myself.

Wheeler laughed then, awkwardly. "I'm surprised," he coughed a little into his hand "you aint got some girl back there with you. I always thought that was what the mighty Seto Kaiba did on Friday night".

"The mighty Seto Kaiba." I began with heavy sarcasm "likes to look at spreadsheets on Friday nights. Maybe, if he feels so inclined, even a pie chart". I had thought this to be an appropriate way to deflect Wheeler's sudden curiosity about my personal life, but I knew it had backfired when Wheeler exploded into laughter, jerking the wheel haphazardly as he did so.

"Christ Kaiba! You're just…just so…frigid."

I had comebacks, sure. I almost questioned why Wheeler was suddenly so curious anyway. I could have insinuated a great number of things. I even could have replied with a terse dog comment. But instead I gnashed my teeth together until Wheel pulled into the winding Kaiba mansion driveway a few minutes later.

I stepped outside and Wheeler rolled down his window. "Kaiba!" He called out to me as I began walking. I turned to him.  
"Hey man, no hard feelings alright? I was just messing, with you being the most popular guy in town and all," he waited, looking genuinely apologetic under the uneven light coming from the cab.

Here was my chance. My chance to put him in his place. My chance to come out on top. "None whatsoever. I should only wonder why my personal life is of such great interest to you in the first place." My delivery, I suspected, had not been as cold as I had meant it to be. It instead came out as a genuine question.

Wheeler, with the black shadows sinking in the angles of his face, looked stoic, but I could tell from the twitch in his mouth and eyes that he was surprised.

"Have a goodnight Kaiba. I'll see you around". He rolled up his window and drove away.

A wise man once said, "If you cannot speak the truth even to yourself, you will grow madder than the most delusional of fools". The truth had grown increasingly hard for me to grasp. I was thinking about Wheeler again, in a way that made me feel a little unstable. I could never understand his ability to stir so much emotion from me. Did I see something of myself in him? Some unnamable piece of my subconscious? Or did I see something that I wanted in him? Like the feeling I had when looking into the eyes of that woman at the party, or when he made me momentarily speechless in his cab.

It was one of the rare occasions when Mokuba and I got the chance to have breakfast together.

Mid-way through buttering some toast, Mokuba said "Joey was asking about you".

I nearly choked on orange juice.

"What business does he have asking about me?"

Mokuba smiled to himself. "He asked me what you thought of him."

My interest, already piqued, shot up even more. "And what did you tell him?"

Mokuba chuckled in a way that made me nervous. "I told him that his dashing good looks drove you crazy, prompting you to insult him at every opportunity".

I knocked the glass or orange juice on the table. Mokuba calmly grabbed some napkins to mop it up.

"You're joking."

Mokuba chuckled more. "Well it's the truth".

I fumed.

"At least, I've deduced it to be the truth."

"What?" I snapped.

"All these years, you always paid so much attention to him, even though he shouldn't have been important. He shows up here years later and you're all out of sorts for weeks! You can't look at him for more than a few seconds before your face turns red." Mokuba was being so matter of fact.

"Mokuba Kaiba that is so inappropriate of you!"

"Seto," he leaned in and put a hand on my shoulder, "People get 'crushes', it's ok, just most people are more mature about it than you."

He pulled his hand away from me smugly. I stood up from the table, yelling curses.

"Oh Seto Seto, you only get this angry when I've embarrassed you, and I can only embarrass you when I confront you with a truth that you don't want to hear." Mokuba then solemnly sipped from his glass of orange juice, got up from the table and took the soggy pile of napkins with him over to the trash.

I remained standing, breathing in an agitated pattern and trying to think straight.

"Wheeler isn't, he's not- he doesn't like" I was at a loss of how to proceed. "Look Mokuba this isn't like a little matchmaking game, Wheeler is a full grown man who likes to chase girls, date girls, do, other things with girls. I just- I just can't believe you would even put an idea like that in his head!"

Mokuba rolled his eyes at me. "I know so much more than you ever give me credit for, Seto".


	6. all my world in one grain of sand

I have always had the feeling that Mokuba would outgrow me, one of these days. There was nothing about him growing up, nothing unusual, that lead me to believe he would become like me. In fact, quite the opposite, he was very charismatic. After a brief period of shyness in his earlier teenage years Mokuba became something along the lines of a socialite. As I became more and more of a recluse, Mokuba stepped further into the spotlight, in some ways taking the burden off of me. There were days when I would send him to press conferences to speak on my behalf because I didn't want to be seen. He knew when to crack a joke, when to put on his solemn face if the company wasn't doing well. He didn't mind being photographed or interviewed. He went out and he partied with celebrities. I remember he dated a young, up and coming actress once. I had seen them together on tabloids. But for all of this he never entertained, never held parties at our house, never invited women over. I was the reason for this.

It was something of an unspoken rule in our house that privacy was above all else. Mokuba was kind enough to allow me that dignity. He didn't make awkward introductions between his friends and I. Although, maybe this was less for my sake and more so he didn't have to answer to them later, when they would inevitably ask, _What is wrong with your brother? Mokuba, what is wrong with your fabulously wealthy CEO brother? Mokuba, is this the man that raised you? How did you become so normal?_ Of course, the flipside of this was that he was rarely home. Without Mokuba in the house I had all the more reason to work. I no longer visited his room before bed, like when he was very young. I no longer watched tv or even indulged in a game with him in the evenings like we had done in the first few years after I took over Kaiba Corp. Even sitting together at the breakfast table, drinking orange juice and reading the paper in silence every morning had become a remnant of the past. I couldn't go out and have dinner with him because there was always _someone, _someone who knew him and wanted to come say hi, or someone who had recognized him, or someone who just couldn't stop looking at us, at him. It made me itch all over. I think it made Mokuba itch too. He could sense my apprehension and it drove him crazy, made him sit more rigidly, made him grind his teeth.

So we didn't go out to dinner, we stayed in for dinner. And then I stayed in for dinner.

There was a period of my life, lasting just a few years, in which I was a media spectacle. I was the teenage CEO of the largest gaming company in the world. I was also a champion duelist. I was an oddity. I think I even had fans as well, girls, mostly. Because I was a winner. I was very young. I was very powerful. The attention then was bearable though, because it wasn't about me, it was about the archetype of me. It was about the Kaiba name, the Kaiba family scandal. It was about the duel monsters prestige. It was about my ego and it was about my money. It was about two-dimensional things that I could understand. I could fulfill my role and it was ok.

High school ended for me and the company was still rapidly expanding. I wasn't in the best place since I had lost my gaming titles to Yugi, but I was in an okay place. Mokuba was still pretty young and he was a calming force in my life. Without the obligation of school in my life, and with me eventually giving up on duel monsters, I was able to focus all of my energy into the company. It was my greatest source of pride. If I could run a successful company, even if I lost to Yugi, even if I was socially dysfunctional, even if Mokuba didn't want to hang out with me anymore, I was still a winner, or, at the very least, not a loser.

As I watched Mokuba grow up it became very apparent that he was smart. I don't think he approached business with the same zeal as I had, but he had a good, logical mind and was quick to solve problems. I could show him numbers and he would put them together. He picked up quickly on all the nuances of Kaiba Corp. The nitty-gritty details that I drove my employees mad with came easily to him. Aside from this, he was creative too. His ideas were unheard of, but he presented them with a confidence that showed he had a mind to back it up. I was always impressed with him.

Another important date that I had marked in my calendar: the day I invited Mokuba to be a full-time partner in the company. It wouldn't have been a surprise, no. I think it was assumed that Mokuba would always have access to a position at the company. But I was excited over it nonetheless. I had been running Kaiba Corp by myself for years at that point. I liked the power, I liked being the head guy, but running it side by side with my little brother was a far better arrangement. I would sometimes, in my off moments, allow myself to imagine. Image the construction plans for the huge double office that I was going to build for us. Imagine going to the big conferences together, talking about the future of gaming technology, interjecting each other's speeches. Imagine working late nights, picking apart spreadsheets with Mokuba standing behind me looking for any oversights (not that I would leave oversights). Imagine his chair next to mine during business meetings. I had grown so attached to the whole fantasy that I found any sort of alternative to be implausible.

After I made the offer, Mokuba went white. He gave me a smile, no, a half smile. A smile like he was too tired to go all the way through with it.

"Seto," he stopped then started again, "Big brother," calling me like when he was little.

I waited. We had been at the breakfast table, where we sat every morning. The only appropriate place for an occasion like that.

"Look I'll just come out with it. I don't want to run Kaiba Corp."

Mokuba had always been very deliberate in his way of doing things. He was never wishy-washy, never conflicted. His words were always spoken with clarity and confidence. I knew better than to question his decisions. I don't think I moved a muscle on my face, not a noticeable one anyway. My mind was known for working fast, but nonetheless I had to stop and repeat his words to myself, giving them time to be understood.

"Well is there another position you would like? Perhaps I could make you head of the design and development branch, I know how that is your favorite and-"

Mokuba cut me off then, which he rarely did. "No, Seto, I'm saying I don't want to work for Kaiba Corp. I want to make my own life."

That was the end of the conversation.

What Mokuba had actually meant by "making his own life" was to become a music talent agent. I can admit (grudgingly) that it made sense for him. Not as much sense as working for Kaiba Corp. would have, but still it was a fair enough path. It took advantage of his business sense as well as his intuition and knack for knowing what people wanted. Mokuba had always loved music as well, something I couldn't relate to. He was in cahoots with most of the more famous dj's and even some well-known artists. He had inside knowledge of the industry and, of course, he was a Kaiba. So it was no surprise that he succeeded in "making his own life".

The first really big name that he was tied to was a young woman, a pop singer who ended up going platinum on her first album. Her stage name was something weird, along the lines of B3kkah! But I remember that her real name was Becca and she was, without makeup, a plain little girl from the farm. Mokuba used to always talk about her and all of her potential. All her talent. How she was bringing something so "different" to music. I tried to understand but I couldn't. She was a pop singer. It was all the same.

He doesn't talk about his work as much anymore. On occasion the TV will be on and he will point with his finger saying "worked with her", "signed him", or "discovered them". I met one of them once at a party, not the usual coorportate affair I attended but a big benefit that Mokuba had insisted I attend with him. I recall he was in a band that Mokuba had recently signed. He was dressed like a fool, with ripped jeans, messy hair, leather jacket- the whole cliché. He shook my hand.

"You're brother is really a great guy, you know? He really fought for us, me and my band, it's all thanks to him really".

And I smiled knowingly, and Mokuba protested, modest as he was.

I on the other hand, was not so modest. I was, as Wheeler (come to think of it) once so eloquently put it, an "egomaniacal, narcissistic, self-absorbed bastard". I don't think that I pointed out at the time that he should have chosen only one adjective, since they all meant the same thing. But I guess the insult had some truth. I did not deny my talent. I was good at what I did. No- I was the best at what I did. And I had fought my way, tooth and claw, to prove it.

After Mokuba rejected my offer, (it's been four or so years by now) our relationship stretched a little thinner. We stopped looking at spreadsheets together. He moved out for about a year. His job allowed him a much different lifestyle than mine. Sometimes I would call him up, tell him about a new product that the company was launching, or a mistake the accounting office made, hoping he would say something, give an opinion, offer and idea, something that would let me pretend we were still working together as a happy, Kaiba family. But usually his response was "oh that's interesting".

Mokuba came back to live with me after I was hospitalized. He said he needed to watch out for me now. I don't remember much of it, but I remember the doctor listing "stress" as a cause. I was prescribed some medication, to keep my blood pressure down and advised to "take time for myself". Stupidity. What the doctor didn't understand was that my work _was _my time for myself. It always welcomed me back, needing me. In another context, I would have told Mokuba that moving back was stupid, that he wasn't going to help, that I could take care of myself. But I didn't point out fallacies, I didn't fight him.

He barely lives here now though. I see him during the day, but our conversations happen with the realization that he is going to run out the second it ends. He had become independently successful while I had become simply dependant. "Time for myself" consisted of standing in the shower and scrubbing my fingernails.

He hates being home. I can see it in the way he looks around the house and is disappointed to only find me. I can tell by the way that his traveling suitcase never gets unpacked, in case he wants to leave again. I know it when he says he is leaving, and I look at him, but instead of coming back inside to sit with me a little longer, he can only make a feeble attempt to motion me out of the door with him. I never follow.

I have built my life around him. I am so afraid everything will tumble down as soon as he tries to undo my creation.


	7. Everybody's Changing

**Note: Last chapter was focused on Kaiba's relationship with Mokuba, and how it had progressed, to where it is now. It was a little aside, something Seto would recount to himself. Even though this story is listed as being about Seto and Joey, it obviously revolves mostly around Seto (and what doesn't? haha). In my opinion, you can't write Seto without writing Mokuba, as they influence each other very much. Hopefully explaining his relationship with his only remaining family helps you guys to get into his character more **

I had developed a penchant for thinking about people I had no business thinking of. It was a nasty habit I picked up sometime after Mokuba first held his little "reunion" in my house. I thought about Yugi sometimes, yes. It brought me back to older days and the weird chaos that had consumed my life. Duelist Kingdom- a strange time for me. How I left feeling unsteady, on the verge of grabbing the hand that Yugi always seemed to be outstretching, just taking it, being friends. In front of my computer, late at night, my eyes rotting away at the screen, I tried to picture what it would have felt like to walk into a house filled with Yugi and his friends had I been one of them. Would I have cracked a smile upon seeing them? Maybe Wheeler would have run up to me and slapped me on the back. Maybe we could all look back on our younger years and laugh about it, like the best of inside jokes. Maybe after they were gone I would have turned to Mokuba and said "Wow I haven't seen those guys in ages! Thanks for getting them all together for me!". But that wasn't how it was, I knew. In the dark, at my computer screen, I thought of watching my life from above, moving like a river, and me, dragging along in the undercurrent.

It was at another party, the next time I was to run into Wheeler.

I had always clung to the idea that, because I went to "parties" a few times a month, then I must be healthy. An incurable introvert wouldn't be able to handle that, would he? But the parties and dinners were stale affairs thrown by old men and received by old men. If it were a dinner party, then the food was served early. If it were more of a mingling, unstructured event, then there was always the dull whistle of a bland jazz band. Aside from the old men and their money, a lot of young gold-diggers came as well. I would sometimes glance over at one, on the arm of some sallow-skinned man riding out his days in delusion. This was one of the few times when I could bond or connect with women in any sort of way. They always looked the same, pursed lips, acrylic nails clicking together, looking so bored and so empty that is made my heart cry. I knew how it felt, yes, to forever be linked on the arm of death, holding on only for the money.

I saw Wheeler first. I would liken my situation to one of a new car owner who, immediately after buying a car of a particular make and model, cannot help but notice his same car everywhere he goes. Now that Wheeler was back in my peripheral vision I could not help but to be on the lookout for him at all times.

He was out on the balcony, away from others, still in his work clothes- the white shirt that at one time was probably starched but now was untucked and rumpled, black pants held up by a belt and a cheap black bowtie that Wheeler had undone. He was leaning across the railing, not quite facing away from the party, but not quite looking out into the night. His features and the details of him, although dark in the night, were illuminated by the glow of inside in such a soft, romantic way that he almost looked like a piece of art, a ground-breaking painting that told a common story. He had a cigarette in his mouth, although, as I got closer I could see it was not lit. He held a lighter out in front of him, sparking it and then extinguishing the flame, as if the tiny light were a decision needing to be made.

I stood in the doorway out to the balcony, studying the scene for a moment, not sure if I was disappointed he was there, ruining my chance for a lonely moment, or if I was relieved that he was now a tangible element in front of me again, not a figment floating through my brain. It took him a moment to register me, but when he did, his face lit up like a jack o'lantern, white teeth glowing against the flame from the lighter.

"I can't get away from you can I?" There was a laugh behind his words, a subtle joke. His voice was rough like he had been smoking earlier. He leaned further back into the rail, stretching his arms across it like an invitation. I stepped out on the balcony.

"So what's better, sloughing through the streets of Domino in a taxi, or hiding out at parties and smoking?" My question stemmed from genuine interest, although I was sure my voice conveyed only condescension. I was after all, a creature of habit.

Wheeler twisted his head to look out at the distant buildings. He spit over the balcony from the side of his mouth, keeping the cigarette in place. I could feel my face wrinkle up.

"I wasn't smoking" he said, finally pulling the cigarette from his mouth, "I was thinking 'bout it, but I told Serenity that I'd stop, and I meant it."

"Should I amend the question then?"

Wheeler glared at me, eyes dark and vicious.

"I wasn't hiding out either. I was thinking."

"Out of practice?"

"Kaiba!" he hissed, mouth making a crooked line as the last vowel came out.

I backed away from him, physically that is. I could read something in his body now much more defensive than it had been moments before. He had wanted me there, but I couldn't understand what he had expected.

His sudden startup caught me off guard. "You know, I'm not just a waiter. Head chef, yeah, he lets me cook with him sometimes. Says if I can scrape up a little money he'll get me into his cooking school, maybe get me a better job with him after. Says I could be good, I just need," Wheeler paused for a moment and spat again, "more education".

I was about to say something but he spoke again. "The driving, well, that's just to make a little more money on the side. Aint nothing. Just driving 'round Domino looking for people who need to get somewhere."

"How come I haven't seen you all these years until now?"

Wheeler turned his head to look me right in the eye. He really did have a big mouth, in the most literal sense. His lips were flat and long but retained a certain fullness that probably appealed to most.

I thought he was about to answer, say something unexpected, maybe a little dramatic, it was the look in his eyes, the sharpness of his movement. I realized I was holding my breath.

Wheeler shrugged. "Maybe you just didn't want to see me."

I scoffed. As if I had wanted to see him then.

We stood together in the night, on the balcony, not looking at anything in particular, but understanding our collective presence as it could have been witnessed by the rest of the world. I did not lean against the rail like Wheeler. The further he sank into the barrier the straighter I seemed to stand. He moved like smoke, the same thoughtless motion. Inside music droned on and the people droned on and the party droned on, but the light was reassuring.

Wheeler was always the first to talk.

"You're worried Kaiba, what's wrong?"

I laughed a little, for my own benefit mostly. "You have a third job as a therapist that I don't know about?"

Wheeler's face twitched a little. I think he felt happy. He stuck his chin out into the open air, not looking at me.

"My friends must be rubbing off on me".

I got the joke. My lips felt chapped as I rubbed them together, holding in any trace of a laugh that might have escaped.

"You're thinking, calculating. I can tell." The astute tone wasn't something I was used to, coming from Wheeler.

"I'm always thinking." I said quietly into the sky.

I became aware that the noise from inside had grown more fragmented, as if people were leaving. I checked my watch. Wheeler saw me checking. As I had before, I made eye contact without meaning to.

Wheeler didn't give in, didn't attempt a smile the way most people did when I was looking straight at them. He didn't apologize. Didn't look away. His face was studious in its expression, his long mouth just barely too tense to be relaxed. His eyes had the appearance of hanging below the lids, sympathetic and maybe a little sad. I wondered if he was making the same notes on my face as I was making on his. In some corner of my brain I heard the music stop. Wheeler looked back inside. Looked at me, tilted his head, pushed his lips forward like he was going to say something.

I looked at my watch again without care for the time. My face tingled, even more so with the cool breeze of the night. Wheeler no longer leaned into the rail. He had straightened up, rubbing his hands together.

"Kaiba"

I looked over at him, quicker than I had meant to. "You wanna grab something to eat? You know, we could pretend…pretend, well, not like old times, but maybe we could just pretend we're old buddies. Going out. Grabbing a bite."

"Isn't it a little late for dinner?"

Wheeler's face cracked in delight. "Never a bad time for food, I always say."

It might be easier than I thought, charading about town with Wheeler, pretending that it was the most natural thing in the world.

And suddenly, I was so hungry.

Funnily enough, we went to the same place where I had bought Mokuba a burger from, a while ago, when I was walking by myself and thinking of him. It was a short walking distance form the party so there was little time to feel awkward walking alongside Wheeler, seeing as though we both walked quickly and with purpose.

Wheeler ordered first. "Can I have a double bacon cheeseburger with an order of fries, an order of chicken fingers and some coleslaw?"

I didn't know what I wanted, it wasn't my type of food. So when I got up to the counter I asked for a diet coke and a chicken sandwich, hold all toppings.

When I turned back to Wheeler he looked incredulous. "That's all?"

I brushed past him to sit down at a table in the back corner by one of the windows. I took the seat with my back to the wall rather than the room, the same seat I always liked to take at any table. Wheeler followed with some ketchup packets in hand, grinning like an idiot in love. I knew this meant he was thinking of the food.

He sat at the opposite chair, back completely exposed to the rest of the room. He propped his elbows up on the table, leaned his head forward and ran his fingers through his hair. It reminded me that I could never touch my hair and scalp so carelessly because then my fingernails would feel dirty and I wouldn't be able to stand it.

"Order number 7!"

Wheeler looked down at his ticket and then got up to retrieve his meal. He came back with a full tray loaded with food.

"Number 8!"

With less enthusiasm than Wheeler, I pushed myself out of the seat and over to the counter.

By the time I walked back Wheeler already had half the burger shoved down his throat, looking as happy as I'd ever seen him. I had grabbed a plastic fork and knife from up front, and as I proceeded to take the buns off my sandwich and cut the chicken, Wheeler slowed down on his eating to stare at me.

"You can just pick it up and eat it, you know." He said through half a mouthful of burger.

"I prefer not to eat that way."

Wheeler shrugged and resumed eating with the same gusto as before. He came up for air again long enough to pester me.

"So really Kaiba, what's on your mind?"

I chewed a tiny piece of chicken, took a sip from the diet coke and contemplated whether or not I should even respond. For some unknown reason, I did.

"Mokuba." I grunted, offering no initial explanation.

Wheeler had almost cleared his tray while I was still working my way through a second piece of chicken, a second sip of diet coke. He looked at me quizzically, swallowing the food in his mouth with an audible gulp.

"What about Mokuba?"

Something in my mind clicked and I came back to my senses.

"Worry about your own life, Wheeler."

He looked offended, his eyes opened wide and his cheeks turned red. I saw him clench his jaw. But he didn't try and pick a fight, didn't pick up where I had left off. He was so subdued compared to how I remembered.

"I got a sister, you know. If you remember her. I know how it is, Kaiba. It's never an easy thing is it?"

The words struck something with me, and the memory of Wheeler's face when his sister said she was going home with another man came to mind. I believed he understood. The rhetorical question was left ringing in my head.

Another piece of chicken, another sip of diet coke. Wheeler watched me the whole time, but I could not tell if it was out of impatience or just the opposite. It unnerved me, but I felt exhausted and couldn't object. In fact, even the idea of fighting or insulting Wheeler made me tired. I could almost be impressed with my younger self for having the stamina to keep it up.

But Wheeler seemed wary of argument as well. He was more guarded in his words than I remember, more aware of consequence. I had to almost expect it though, coming from a character like him. That was who Wheeler was, he was the character who grew as a person, who progressed, who improved.

We were the only ones left in the restaurant by the time I finished eating. As we walked out of the building questions flew through my mind. It was the end of our adventure now, and I still had things I had meant to find out. But I was barely forming a cordial relationship with Wheeler, much less a friendly one, and tonight had been the biggest exception to date. I only knew how to be confrontational in my questions, but I tried anyway.

"Who was the girl?"

I could sense Wheeler cocking his head, even in the blank night.

''Say what?"

"The one who kicked you out."

"Oh." I heard Wheeler itch his hair. "She didn't actually kick me out. Her boyfriend did."

I filed that detail in the back of my mind to ask about next time, if there was a next time. I couldn't ask too many questions tonight without it coming off as well, too much. "Who was she?"

"Oh. You know Mai."

Mai. These people apparently never branched out of their little cluster, always staying together, creating the same drama that they had as teenagers. Yes, I remembered her. Blonde. Tiny face with big eyes. Tall. She had a memorable look about her sure, although I found her to be a rather incompetent duelist. Maybe better than some, alright. But still below par.

"Still chasing that girl around, after all these years, Wheeler?" I wasn't being half as judgmental as I normally was, because I knew a rut when I saw one.

"Nah." Wheeler sped up his pace, his voice came out breathless, maybe sounding excited under a different premise. "Not anymore."

I took a few long strides and was walking exactly beside him once more. "After that shit went down, you know, the boyfriend and all, well I thought about showing up at my dad's place, maybe bringing a case of beer, asking if it'd be alright but…"

Wheeler stopped for a minute as we stood on a little footbridge that reined over one of the small city ponds. "You ever just look at the water at night, Kaiba? Jeesh it really is something." And he stood by the edge for a few moments, gazing into the inky depth.

But I was oblivious to the water. I wanted Wheeler to talk again. "But what? Finish your thoughts Wheeler."

"But I just couldn't do it." I watched as Wheeler reached down into his pocket and took out the pack of cigarettes and the lighter. He pulled one out and put it in his mouth.

"Wheeler, your sister-'. At my words he snapped his head up, then gave me a look as if he had expected someone else to have said it.

"Oh. Right. Thanks."

"Why couldn't you do it?"

He was lost then, lost looking at the water. At least I thought so. I looked at the water then too, and was terrified by the richness of it.

"Because I made a promise to myself that I'd leave all my ghosts behind."


	8. Flesh and Blood

I stood on the footbridge with Wheeler, each of us reacting to the night in our own contained way. I took my phone out to call my limo, not wanting to make the rest of the walk home in the damp chill of the night. I smelled a distinct salty note in the air and could feel humidity on my skin.

"Looks like the sky will open up any minute." I remarked to Wheeler. "You want a ride home?"

I think I had caught him off guard.

"Like, in the limo?"

"No Wheeler I meant a piggyback ride. Of course the limo."

Wheeler's eyes bulged a bit and I could see the muscles under his skin fight off a smirk. I regretted my previous comment.

"Well, sure I do!". He smiled at me then, clapping his hands together in excitement. I almost dropped my head into my hands and groaned.

Wheeler bounced from foot to foot like an anxious child as the cold night air crept in around us. I was watching him out of the corner of my eye, trying not to be obvious, knowing on some level that what I was doing was abnormal. But Wheeler became a different beast at night. The rough features of his that were so noticeable during the day had been smoothed over by the darkness. There was something almost glossy about his exterior; something about the angles of his face and tone of his skin and hair that made him metallic beneath the fragmented light of the city night. It was a bit like looking into freshly polished chrome and not being able to look away until you had the chance to fully appreciate it.

"Whatcha looking at Kaiba?"

I pretended to be looking off into the distance behind him. "I'm looking out for the limo."

"Oh. Yeah. Forgot."

And so we stood together. I distracted myself by wondering if other people looked so new and polished at night and I just had never noticed, or if it was something unique to Wheeler. I wondered what I looked like sometimes, if I was always the same icicle that I was in front of a mirror.

When my driver pulled up in my personal limo Wheeler's eyes got wide as saucers. The driver came out of his seat to open the door for us. I stood back and let Wheeler climb in first.

By the time I had sat down and clicked my seat belt in he was already fidgeting with all the nearby buttons and switches. I thought about scolding him, telling him to stop being childish, to cut it out, to at least pretend like he had some class or restraint but then I thought better of it. We had both been reasonably placid towards each other and I just didn't have the motivation to end it. So I let him play with the buttons and switches and settled on watching his fingers, battered as they were, dance about the controls.

"Give the driver your address Wheeler."

My words made him snap out of his other endeavors and he promptly leaned forward towards the front seats to talk to the driver.

"Just drop me off by the entrance of the new West End developments."

The driver made a responsive noise.

I realized shortly after that the part of the West End Wheeler was talking about was about a 40 minute drive with minimal traffic, as opposed to the 10 minutes it took to get to my home. Given the nature of night life, the streets were quite busy, possibly just as busy as they were during the day. I let my head fall and hit against my window. I hated driving in traffic.

"Do you have to live so far away?" I grumbled.

Wheeler meanwhile had gone back to causing trouble, still exploring the whole backseat. You'd think he had just landed on the moon.

"Huh, what? Oh. Yeah. Sorry Kaiba, that's where my mom and sis are"

"You commute there to the heart of Domino everyday?"

Joey looked at me, confused. "Well yeah but it's like a twenty minute ride on the Domino Rail…"

Oh. Drat. I had forgotten about that

"Right."

"Look Kaiba I can just get off here and take the next train to West End. There's a station right over there-"

"No, Wheeler. Stay in the limo. I offered you a ride and I so I will give you a ride."

Wheeler did his characteristic shrug again, happy enough to sit in the fancy car and press the buttons.

It was about 20 minutes into the drive when I started becoming ill at ease. I readjusted in my seat and tapped my fingers when we stopped moving. I found traffic to be a great torment. After all, it was the opposite of all things I valued: time, efficiency and productivity. I would habitually glance over at Wheeler, trying to time my glances just so we wouldn't make eye contact again. He had stopped fiddling and instead gazed serenely out the window, smiling just slightly at the people walking around us and the illuminated skyscrapers in the near distance. I experienced a moment of jealousy, of want. I had never achieved such peace from anything, much less something so simple, so unremarkable as the city at night from the view inside a vehicle. But Wheeler enjoyed things effortlessly.

"You must like buildings, am I right Kaiba?"

I took a minute to think about this. "Well I've designed a number of buildings and structures myself. I suppose I can appreciate the various aspects of a building, yes."

Wheeler snorted quietly to himself. "See Kaiba that's what makes you different from an architect. You can do all the designs but they won't ever _speak _to you. Hell, I'd leave it to you to design the grandest skyscraper in the whole world, but you'd never be in love with it, maybe you'd love parts of it. You'd love the sturdiness of the frame because you crafted the design, you'd love the materials because they're the best in the world, you'd love the name because it's attached to you, but you'd never walk by it and just _feel good_ about it, just love it, because it's a thing, it's got a presence. You don't see the world that way, everything is face value to you."

"Are you saying that makes me bad?" I was indignant and unable to retort.

Wheeler sounded genuinely surprised when he responded. "No, I'm saying it makes you limited. You know this already, that everyone's got their limits but for most of them, those limits are coming from their brains, from their abilities. But you, you can do everything in the world. You just can't fall in love with it. That's your limit."

I looked out of my window at the buildings passing by, trying to find an answer in one of them, to see what Wheeler was talking about, but I was at a loss.

"Well then that's just how it is." I confirmed, to Wheeler but also to myself.

Wheeler leaned across his seat and put one of his hands on my arm. I flinched and tightened my jaw, surprised by the abrupt touch. "We can't talk Kaiba, never got along because well, I'm like the Scarecrow, out there looking for a brain, and you're like the tin man and you need a heart and well we're living in separate worlds but maybe one day a Dorothy will come along and we'll all go down the yellow brick road, oh but first we need a lion and then- oh god I've lost my metaphor, but anyway, the wizard-

"Wheeler!"

Sheepishness crept into his eyes and mouth. He withdrew his hand from my arm. "Sorry Kaiba, but like I said, you're smart, you must know what I mean."

"Wheeler sometimes I don't even know what language you are speaking."

And then he laughed, the sound coming deep from his stomach until his body was back against the seat, shaking with the realization of something, well, funny. I took one look at him, his red face, his shaking body, his uneven and gristly laugh and without knowing how, I laughed too.

The laughing died out slowly with lots of pauses for breathing in between. I caught my breath quickly, and then I made fast work of composing myself: I smoothed my hair back from being rumpled by the leather of the back seat, I straightened my shirt which had gotten bunched in my fit of laughter and I wiped the pricks of water by my eyes. Wheeler was looking at me curiously, making me feel uncomfortably open.

"You should laugh more Kaiba, it makes you look about 10 years younger."

I smoothed my fingers down the side of my neck, it helped me calm my pulse, kept any more blood from rushing to my face.

"I'm not so old."

"No." said Wheeler quietly, "You're stressed."

I huffed haughtily. "No shit. If you haven't noticed Wheeler, I've got a lot of things I need to take care of."

Wheeler raised his hands at me, sending the physical message that he was backing away from a verbal fight. "Look I get it, I'm just saying…"

"Saying I look old."

"No! Listen I just meant, take care you yourself." Wheeler dropped his voice down to a mumble before picking up again, lifting his head so that he stared straight at my chin. " I know you're Seto Kaiba, genius extraordinaire and all that other stuff, but you're still just well, a lump of flesh. You aren't invincible. No one is."

"A lump of flesh. Poetic really." I sighed and rubbed the back of my neck. My bones were heavy, bogged down by the weight of something I couldn't name. My eyes throbbed, too tight in their sockets. I could sense my bottom lip begin to split from the dryness. I felt like a lump of flesh.

I was caught off guard when the limo pulled to a stop, right in front of a run-down looking sidewalk just by a big billboard advertising West-End housing.

I had touched my lip and saw the smeared bead of blood on my hand. Wheeler looked at me unapologetically, still in the limo.

"I'd invest in some chapstick." Wheeler remarked, still giving me an uncanny stare. I felt my stomach twist. It bothered me to know Wheeler was watching my lips, watching them bleed, knowing just how dry I really was.

"Funny to hear you give me investment advice." I did not know if I had meant to play along with the joke or meant to deliver a swift dig. I did not know which one my voice had conveyed. Wheeler was for once, unreadable.

"Like I said, you take care of yourself Kaiba." His words mixed with the crack of the door, opening up and setting him free. My mind quickly skimmed through scenarios that should not have mattered to me. I imagined Wheeler's friend asking what he did last night and Wheeler lying, saying anything except that he ate a meal with Seto Kaiba and then accepted a ride home from him. Or maybe his friend would crack a joke, something like "how did you even survive it?". I thought of how maybe Yugi would find out and say to him "Oh I'm glad you're getting along better with Kaiba, you know he needs the friends." And then maybe Wheeler would vehemently insist that we weren't friends, or maybe he would instead say "that's for sure, Yug".

We both snapped our heads to look outside the car as a second crack was heard, one emanating deep from within the sky. Wheeler had barely gotten his second foot out the door when the sky opened up, soaking him at the first opportunity. I thought about the sky as if it were my lip, split in the middle and bleeding.

Wheeler hollered to me through the rain. "Hey Kaiba, thanks for everything. Really."

And then, as the rain hit and jumped up from the ground, falling and falling again and again, Wheeler turned and began to run away from the limo, into the housing project, where he would find warmth awaiting him instead of the icy shock of rain that was five minutes too early.


	9. Atlas

It was a true surprise to be greeted by Mokuba when I arrived home.

"How long have you been here?"

He gave me a funny look. "Hours. Where've you been?"

I felt a little pang in my gut. It figured that the one time Mokuba was home for more than 15 minutes at a time had been while I was out. I questioned in the back of my mind whether or not this was intentional on his part.

"I was out having a meal."

Another suspicious stare. "It's a bit late isn't it? I thought you didn't like to eat past 11."

I tried to choose my words carefully. "I was invited out."

Mokuba was relentless. "Where did you go"

"Oh" I took a moment to consider whether or not I should lie and substitute in the name of a high-end place to imply it had been on business but it did make me dully uncomfortable to lie to Mokuba, partly because of the brotherly guilt but also because his uncanny stare made me feel like he could see through me and was merely waiting for the opportunity to confront me. "Just that burger place. The one you like sometimes."

Mokuba made a face, almost like he was both surprised and impressed, like I had solved a clever riddle. "That's not like you. Who'd you go with?"

I felt like I had been caught in something although the feeling didn't make any reasonable sense. But I realized that trying to skirt around his questions would betray me as furtive, some sort of sneaky teenager coming home past curfew. "I ran into Wheeler at that event I went to."

Mokuba's eyes betrayed only the tiniest spark of surprise. "That's who you went to dinner with? I should have figured, your usual company wouldn't exactly be swarming around a burger joint." He made a noise somewhere between a chortle and a sound of disbelief. "What, did you guys kiss and make-up and become buddies or something?" and then, knowing this was a ridiculous question, he broke out into a wide grin, not unlike the Cheshire cat, a little menacing, as if he were challenging me to say yes.

Again I tried to be cautious with my words. "I don't think it works like that. He's grown…more tolerable over the years." I took a long breath, trying without much success to quickly piece together a coherent explanation, trying to use just a few words to _explain, _just explain what it was like to pretend- what it was like to look at someone and see your past in unclear snapshots that made you feel like a life was something tangible in front of you, something simple that could be categorized by the characters that drifted in and out of it. "Sometimes you need to see someone you haven't seen in a while, you need to look at his face and ask yourself if you've changed in the same way. Sometimes you need an anchor and you need to know that your life is moving forward."

Mokuba looked at me skeptically, but with a distinct empathy around his eyes. "In a few years Seto, I'll understand."

I nodded, knowing that I was older , and this was the hard part of being older. No one ever warned you. The monsters were still under the bed, sure, but they were different in form now. They were more fragile things-nostalgia, scars, bad habits. They terrified you, yes, but there was that other dimension now. The one where you needed monsters to exist, needed them to remind you where you slept at night. I was at a loss.

So I thought confusing things to myself and without anything else to say, nodded a second time and didn't meet Mokuba's eyes. I shuffled off to bed, where I slept poorly and thought about the monsters under my bed taking form in various people who had passed through my life, never noticing that it was in shambles.

….

I began to seek Wheeler out more actively two weeks or so after that night. This was the time it took me to cut through all that had happened between us, slight as it was from the outside. He was no longer a phantom so much as an objective. He was a stimulant, something that made me behave and think differently.

I went to some of the more minor parties that I usually wouldn't have bothered with in the hope that he would be there with the caterers. I would look inside taxis hoping to see him behind the wheel. I didn't have a sold rationale for why I was doing this, I knew only that his physical presence made me feel still. My life didn't churn, I wasn't being propelled so far into the future. I was stagnant, Wheeler was stagnant, we were a moment in time, created and created over again. It was ironic this was the effect he had on me considering how much we had both changed.

It seemed that the harder I looked for him the less success I found. On some level I was embarrassed. I felt like a school-girl looking for her crush in the hallways. But on another level I was shameless. I had a need, a deep need that was surfacing more than ever before and this was me fulfilling it, this was me advancing my survival.

I had tried to statistically calculate the odds of me running into him at any given event. The slimmer the chances, the more determined I became to find him. All to no avail.

Finally, well into the winter season, he found me.

It was the first snowfall of the season and I had taken the opportunity to walk by the nearby park, to watch as everything became hidden, blank. I enjoyed the cold more than the heat. There was something I savored about the prick of cold, the way it shocked my mind into working even faster, the way it made everything seem sharper, less languid and more alert. I liked the way that fresh snow looked so clean, so uniform. I valued simplicity and clarity in aesthetics. To me, snow embodied this better than anything. It took away confusing things like color texture and instead streamlined all things into simple shapes and dimensions. As I walked along and took it in, I was reminded of the comment Wheeler had made to me about buildings earlier in the year. It felt something jerk in my stomach at the memory of his words that was unpleasant. I wanted him to see me in that moment, walking outside, breathing clean winter air and appreciating things for their presence.

I almost got my wish. He found me a few moments later once I had walked through the park and was back onto a city sidewalk. After I turned the corner I pulled the collar of my jacket up to shield my neck from the wind. When I brought my face back up, Wheeler was in sight, staring at me dumbly. For a moment we stayed positioned as if we were in a showdown, both waiting for the draw.

"Kaiba?" He yelled to me, his voice jumping through the wind. I lifted my chin, trying to look into the distance even though I already recognized him. I don't know what else I expected to see. I took a few tentative steps forward before Wheeler started taking long strides toward me, arms wrapped around his middle against the elements. I found a panic growing in my throat. I was prepared all other times, but not now. It upset me.

He stopped maybe three feet away from where I was standing, looking cold.

"How you been?" He asked, his voice strained over the outside noise.

"Fine."

He looked at his feet and shivered.

"Hey you want to catch up inside somewhere? It's uh, it's pretty cold and-"

"Okay."

"I know a place. Up here." And he pointed straight ahead, already walking.

Wheeler took me into a tiny café, packed full of cold people with hot drinks. Most of the people in line still had their arms crossed, and every time the door swung open the entire crowd would look over and glare.

"Go grab that table over there and I'll order something hot," Wheeler instructed me.

I grabbed the last empty table, a tiny wooden circle that bumped against two thin chairs. The intimacy of the setting unnerved me, making me feel claustrophobic. Wheeler came back after a few minutes carrying two mugs filled to the brim and in danger of sloshing over.

He set the mug in front of me and I sniffed it. It wasn't coffee.

"Wheeler is this hot chocolate?"

He answered matter of factly "Well what else are you supposed to drink when it snows outside?"

I got a sudden burst of memory, an image of pouring hot water into a mug for Mokuba's cocoa on our first Christmas by ourselves. I suddenly felt very feeble, and I looked into the mug of hot chocolate the way someone might look at a photo album at the end of his life.

I heard the drag of the chair as Wheeler moved it backward to sit down. "You got a problem with hot chocolate?" he demanded.

"I haven't had it in a while."

"Oh. Well, drink up." And he took the first sip of his.

We sipped in silence for a while as the rest of the café buzzed and bunched together.

Wheeler spoke up again, a chipper note in his voice. "Been a while since we saw each other hasn't it?"

"Usually I see you catering at parties." I did not betray my cloying curiosity, but the question hung in the air. Why hadn't I seen him?

"Actually-" Wheeler took another sip, a little too fast and made a face as he burnt his tongue, his eyes watering for a few seconds and making him look misty-eyed. "You remember what I said, about the cooking school? Well I finally put the money together. I was in Paris for a while, learning how to make, you know, French food and stuff. S'probably why you haven't seen me around." I didn't like the apologetic tone to his words.

But I was not expecting to hear that Wheeler had been in Paris, probably learning under the instruction of culinary masters. It impressed me, and for an instant I think I felt _proud, _yes, unfoundedly proud.

"Well, Wheeler, that's quite interesting." We looked at each other and then both quickly looked away. "Impressive even…"

"Yeah well, lucky break I guess." He shrugged. How was it that someone could be so modest with one thing and yet, I recalled him talking a big game before every duel when we were teenagers.

"I don't believe in luck."

Wheeler raised the left corner of his mouth, looking a little smug. "Wouldn't expect you to."

I tried to imagine Wheeler with his ratty clothes and inner-city accent parading through the most upscale parts of Paris. It was comical in some ways yes, and I realized my curiosity had been ignited.

"Well I suppose that makes you slightly less uncultured now. How was it?"

Wheeler opened his mouth at the backhanded compliment, but closed it when he realized that I hadn't put enough zest into it for it to really be offensive. "It was ok. Beautiful sure, I learned a lot, lots of cool shit. All this fancy food that people pay out the ass for but-"

His pauses maddened me. "But?"

"Well, truth is I'd just as rather cook for my friends at home."

I shook my head a little. "Of course you would, Wheeler. You finally get the chance of a lifetime but it still doesn't appeal half as much as everything you left behind. You don't know it, you can't understand it."

Wheeler cocked his head at me. "Are you trying to insult me or are you speaking from experience?"

. "Neither Wheeler, I'm just hypothesizing. Besides, I've only known one thing."

"Kaiba Corp." Wheeler's voice thudded. His eyes searched around me thoughtfully. "It's funny, you know. Paris is beautiful, really. But something didn't click, couldn't imagine myself staying there much longer than I did."

"Well it's hard to just go into a foreign country cold. Of course you won't feel at home."

"It's a little deeper than that." He trailed off while gazing out the window behind me.

"Maybe. Did you learn any French?" My question made Wheeler smile.

"Only the important stuff."

I looked at him dubiously.

"You know. _Voulez-vous couchez avec moi? _That kind of thing."

"Use that one a lot?" I asked, more dubious than before.

Wheeler stared into his hot chocolate. "Nah." His face looked pink. "The whole time I was there I thought about how Mai had gone to Paris before. She's not like me, you know. She's always running around. I spent years scraping up money to chase that girl around the world."

His voice was low now, lower than before.

"And what happened?" The question fell from my mouth before I could pick it back up. I doubted that I even needed to ask the question. Wheeler spoke so easily, unafraid, unguarded, a fool, appealing in his own way but so very different from myself.

I heard the last slurp of hot chocolate coming from Wheeler and he looked up at me, maybe a little wistful in the corners of his mouth and the slight lines around his eyes. "I couldn't keep up."

"And the new boyfriend?"

"Ah" Wheeler waved his hand dismissively. "He's probably long gone by now. I could see he wasn't built for her. Her was her new boy, and after that there would be another boy, and another, and another, until she's got all the men in the world on her heels, just trying to make her slow down long enough to look her in the eye. But she don't want that. She wants her life."

"I see."

"But, she's a good girl."

"Oh."

Wheeler looked at me then, his heavy eyes scanning my face, trying to put something together. "You're a lot alike, you know, in a weird way." He laughed awkwardly.

"Me and who? Mai?"

"Well yeah. You're tall-"

This made me gasp in disbelief. "For the love of god Wheeler you wonder why I call you an idiot-"

"I wasn't finished!"

"Alright, Wheeler, make your far-fetched point."

"Well" he started again, his voice more metered and cautious this time. "You're both assertive, aggressive even, kind of a take-no-shit attitude. You're both insanely competitive. Attractive." He glanced up at me. "Hungry for power. Hungry for something." He looked up to the ceiling, ponderous. "And you both make duck-face too much."

"Excuse me?"

"You know," Wheeler sucked in both his cheeks and pushed his lips out. "That face girls do when they're afraid of looking fat in pictures or trying to be sexy. You do it when you're angry or thinking too hard."

"Don't be an idiot. I never make that face."

"Hey whatever you say Kaiba". Wheeler was patronizing me. I clenched my hands and snarled at him.

But he just smiled at me, eyelids seeming to hang lower at every second. "There's one way you aren't anything like her though. You don't run. You've got the world at your fingertips and you're still a homebody. You're like me in that way." He leaned forward in his chair, face close enough that I could feel his breath on my nose. I could see the dry lines of his lips, every little dip and crack. It was the first time I had ever been truly afraid of him.

I was bothered. I liked to exist as a singular entity with no branches extending to anything else, floating alone somewhere in space. I did not like being compared to anything, I did not like to be reminded that I was human. "I do not think that I am much like you, Wheeler." My voice was soft, resolute. I might have even sounded kind to someone else. In truth it was a kind thing of me to say.

The longer Wheeler looked at me the more I could see my face reflected into his. Something about the subtle emergence of fine lines, the droop of gravity, the thin cheeks and furrowed brow. There was more similarity than I could come to terms with. I remembered him being very, very, unbearably young. I had thought myself so much older, with the weight of the world on my shoulders. That weight was still there, but I could see it bearing down on the both of us. As we sat in the café, not like friends and not like enemies, the burden rested on both of us, on the other people in the café, on the city and on the world. No one would talk about it, all would bear it in silence. I felt very close to Wheeler and also very afraid of him. The closeness gave him power, more rare than gold and much more of a liability.

His eyes scanned up and down my face, stopping somewhere around my hairline. I felt awful, I would rather he go back to staring me in the eye rather than that. "Maybe not. Maybe you can draw a line between any two people and say they're the same. I mean, people are people, aren't they?".

"Fair enough." I took my last sip of hot chocolate. "I should be getting back to the office. It gets even busier this time of year."

"Oh. Right. Well I guess I'll uh, see you around then."

I looked into my empty mug. "If you stay in the country this time."

Wheeler grinned ear to ear. "I'll be around."

We both rose from the claustrophobic table and shuffled out through the front door where people were still pouring in. As we squeezed out, Wheeler's shoulder brushed hard against mine. I looked to him and could see his jacket was wet from all the snow. He smelled clean and cold. I shivered as the gust of wind met us outside.

Once away from the crowd, we turned to look at each other and give a redundant goodbye. Wheeler stood closer than he normally did.

"It's not so bad, you know." His voice was syrupy, warmer than I wanted to hear.

"What?" I asked, my voice dropping even lower without meaning for it too.

"These grays…" He reached up and touched part of my hair by my temple. His fingers were too warm, searing even against the stinging weather..

"Wheeler.." I cautioned, shrinking away.

"I said this before" he whispered "But take care of yourself".

"Ok" my voice crackled like a fire while Wheeler's seeped out like smoke. "You take care of yourself too."

And then he came so close that my breathing hitched, terrified, so terrified. When I thought I wouldn't be able to stand it anymore, the physical contact, Wheeler broke away. "I'll see you later, Kaiba". He turned and walked away, giving me a flippant wave and marching into the snow where he was lost among other people and the whiteness that bore and floated down around all of them.


	10. Precursor

**My apologies to those of you who have been following this story for the long long long departure. This is a difficult point in the plot for me to write and I hope I was able to convey it appropriately. That being said, this section features some heavily implied mentions of child abuse. There is nothing explicit but the content could easily be disturbing to some. **

**On another note, I am still desperately seeking a beta reader for this story! If anyone who is a beta and wants some work happens to read this and is interested please let me know! I just can't catch all the problems by myself!**

**This chapter is really Seto-intense. I mean, obviously the whole story is but here I really try to put together some more back-story. I hope to eventually get more into Joey (although I have hopefully **_**dabbled **_**enough to satisfy Joey fans)/**

The walk back to my office from the small café seemed to take longer than it had before. The streets were mostly empty aside from a few clusters of people who walked close together, huddled against the wind. A thin layer of snow had accumulated on the ground so that with every step I took I left behind track marks from my shoes. I found a strange pleasure in this and distracted myself from the cold by looking down at the ground and watching as my shoes breached the undisturbed snow again and again.

Once I was in front of the Kaiba Corp. building I took a moment to brush the clumps of fallen snow out of my hair and off my jacket. Then I stomped out my shoes, careful not to bring any snow inside. The first floor was empty. Even the initial receptionist was absent. She had left her lunch unwrapped by her desk. I didn't appreciate workers eating food so close to the expensive company computers, so I stopped for moment to move her sandwich away from the keyboard. In the elevator I was completely alone. I looked up into the elevator's reflective ceiling and saw only my own face, distorted and expressionless.

Once inside of my office I took a deep breath. My jangled nerves had been left dulled by the cold but it was only now that I was able come back to my senses. I took off my jacket and carefully hung it up on the coat hanger. I made sure to straighten out the sleeves so that it draped in a smooth, flat way. I walked over to my desk and quickly examined it for any signs that anything was out of place. I turned my computer back on and spent a minute or so entering all of the various passwords that I had put in place. Doing all of these little tasks felt comfortable to me. It gave me a sense of order and purpose.

I was just feeling myself relax back into the routine of work when my office phone rang and startled me. I picked up on the second ring.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Kaiba, this is Jeanie from the reception desk calling, I have a message for you left by Mr. Donovan Hearst's personal assistant ".

I froze for a moment, forgetting myself.

"Mr. Kaiba?"

"Give me the message".

"Okay well he requested that you contact his office at your convenience. Would you like the number?"

"No I have it."

"Oh, okay then-"

"Is that all?"

Jeanie paused and I could hear her chew and swallow. "Yes Mr. Kaiba".

"Thank you."

I hung up and continued working. About fifteen minutes later when my stomach started hurting and I had an awful headache, I popped some aspirin and tried to get back to that feeling of cold.

It was a few hours later when Mokuba called me. He sounded tired and hoarse.

"Are you getting sick?" I asked.

"I dunno. I might be."

"You should sleep more".

Mokuba coughed on the other end. "Yeah. So what's up?"

I ignored his question for a minute while I clicked through some files on my computer screen. "Seto?"

"Oh. Nothing."

"You sound distracted". I could hear him sniffling and it started to annoy me.

"Yes well. It's cold."

"Ha-ha what? What does that have to do with anything?" Mokuba laughed in the dumb way he sometimes resorted to when he could not think of anything else to say. I wondered if he had called out of a feeling of duty and obligation.

"Mokuba."

"Yes mon frère?"

"You don't need to call me."

Mokuba was quiet in a way that I could tell was deliberate from the muted noises of him trying to hold in his sniffles, barely audible through the slight static of the phone.

"You don't want me to call?" He asked, slipping into a flat, apathetic tone that I heard in my own voice so often.

"I don't want you to waste your time. That's- "

"Oh."

"-All."

Mokuba sneezed on the other end of the line and it jolted me. I looked helplessly at my hand, resting on the keyboard, limp and useless.

"I don't want you to waste your time either, Seto." And then I heard the click of someone hanging up.

It was after I had gotten off the phone with Mokuba that I called Hearst's office. It was only a matter of minutes after that until I was in my personal limo, thoughtlessly giving the driver the address to a place I had visited only in my memories and dreams for the past decade.

Hearst's home was, much like the man himself, well guarded and formal with a kind of dull, glamour-less film on all of its riches. Two stone box buildings where security guards closely monitored the immediate surroundings conspicuously framed the front gate. As the limo pulled up the guard on the right got to his feet and came outside. As he was about to begin questioning us I instructed my driver to unroll my back window, which I then peered out of so that the guard could see me properly. Without another word he activated the unlocking mechanism of the gate and, as we drove through, made a point to tip his hat at me while not looking me in the eye.

Inside the ground the land seemed quite empty, although there was no real reason for anyone to be outside this time of year. It lacked the pulse of Domino City and offered only expanse in return. The actual home, or rather, mansion, was well designed but drab. The long driveway circled a central entrance and I instructed my driver to drop me off in front and then circle about until I called for him.

A young woman opened the door for me. She was dressed as if ready to attend a funeral, all in sad black with her hair piously pinned back. Her mouth hung at the corners as if a testament to years of experience that she seemed not old enough to have. Inside, we walked up a grand staircase together and I could tell that out of the corner of her eye she was trying her best to appraise me.

"Mr. Hearst is very happy you could come today." She says, factual and not in the least bit welcoming.

I swallow the last bits of saliva in my throat. "Well, anything for an old friend".

_Old friend_

The words seem cruel and ironic as I repeat them in my head. But truthfully, what had Hearst been to me if not a friend?

The steady beat of her heals and my own shoes battering against the marble stairs helped to relax me and my mind wandered to my earliest memories of Hearst.

I recalled, with a sudden emotion the first time I met him. At one of Gozaburo's stale dinner affairs. Hearst had caught me peering in through the door and ushered me inside with a smile. As the rest of the men discussed trade and the arms market, Hearst would look over at me and wink then suddenly ask me my opinion of something.

_"Seto, what don't you tell us your feelings on the Austrian School of Economics?"_

And then I would give him my best , most intelligent answer so that he would ruffle my hair and pat my back and tell Gozaburo how bright I was.

Sometimes his questions were simpler, stupider. "_What's your favorite color?" _He asked me once as we walked together_. "Blue."_ I said, without thinking, wondering why in the world it mattered and yet feeling happy that he now knew.

My thoughts were halted as we appeared in front of a deep mahogany door. The woman knocked ominously upon it and without so much a second of wait, an older man in a white coat opened the door and smiled quietly at me.

"Mr. Kaiba, I presume". He extended his hand and I shook it stiffly, trying to peer into the dark room. "Mr. Hearst is a bit tired at the moment but, in good spirits." I looked back to him now, seeing a small clipboard in his arm and stethoscope around his neck.

The woman then spoke up. "How is he breathing?"

The doctor sighed, as if trying very hard to show his disappointment. "Well it's a struggle as it has been recently. We have him propped up now and the oxygen helps but he still has a lot of shortness of breath." Then the doctor turned to me. "He is very adamant about wanting to speak to you but I warn you against asking any questions the require long, drawn out response as he will have a hard time due to his loss of breath."

The woman piped in again. "And how is the swelling?"

"Well his ankles have become really swollen over the past day or so. We're trying to make him as comfortable as possible but…" The doctor looked down at his clipboard.

"Yes, I understand. " The woman said, mostly to herself. I had known Hearst was in bad health for sometime but the nature and severity of it had been kept out of the press.

"If you'll excuse me doctor, what exactly is Mr. Hearst suffering from?"

The doctor looked back up at me and answered briskly "congestive heart failure. It's been getting progressively worse for some time."

I nodded down to the ground as the three of us stood by the doorway in silence.

"Well, why don't we take Mr. Kaiba inside?" the doctor offered and moved behind the doorframe to allow the woman and me into the room.

I now had a proper appreciation of how large the room was. The low lighting left shadows to disappear into every corner. It was bare of any decorative flourishes aside from a large, ornate bed in the center and a few finely made chairs throughout the room. I could now see another person was in the room, close to the bedside. A heavyset woman, dressed in white, quietly tending to Hearst. As the three of us walked closer to the bed Hearst came into better view. He was concealed beneath thick blankets with a few tubes running in and out of him. Behind his neck was a stack of pillows and his eyes were closed, chin tilted upwards. As if distinguishing us by footstep alone he opened his eyes, set square on me.

"Seto." He said, lips curling back into a thin smile. He ushered me forward and I obeyed, as I always had. Without turning to the others he commanded, "Leave us please. "

The doctor approached the bedside cautiously. "If you need me for any reason sir, the bell in right by your right hand". But Hearst impatiently waved him away. Moments later I heard the deep noise of the heavy door closing.

"Pull up a chair, please." Hearst had closed his eyes again.

Uncomfortably, I dragged one of the chairs to rest by Hearst's bed.

"Seto. It has been years."

I could now smell his stale skin. I saw the swelling wrists against the papery flesh. His tired face still shrewd and sharp as ever.

"Indeed". I offered coldly.

I heard Hearst's breathless chuckle.

"Seto I'm dying".

Well, clearly he was. And it was just like Hearst to be clear.

"What business do you have with me today?"

Hearst's eyes opened forcefully and he looked into my face, fully lucid.

"My last will and testament. I would like-" a pause for breath. "I would like to leave you with some things."

It was my turn to smile. "You know I have no use of your money or things."

Hearst reached out a frail but deliberate hand and quietly petted my knee. "You've done well for yourself. As I always knew you would."

I shifted in my seat but his hand tightened on my knee. All it took was his tiny exercise of power and I gave in.

"Then what is the purpose of this?"

"Sentimental," cough. "value".

And this was nearly enough to make sick. Hearst moved his hand up my leg until it was securely clutching the meat of my thigh. He squeezed, much harder than he should have been able to, digging his fingernails in through my pants.

"I don't care for sentiment."

"Seto. " He closed his eye again and sucked in a ragged breath. "You're an angel."

My stomach churned viciously and I almost wished I could suddenly puke and disrupt the moment. But instead I sat still and listened to Hearst's words and tried very hard not to think.

"I would like you to have that chest, over there." He used his free, wobbly hand to point to a dark block in the corner of the room. "It is full of many treasures." He loosened his grip on my thigh and moved the hand further until it came to rest at the line of my trousers. He fingered the fabric there, thoughtfully. "Will you accept?"

I said nothing.

"Good". Hearst said.

We both sat together in the darkness of the room, both deteriorating.

"Seto. Seto please take my hand." And I did so, hesitantly, removing the fingers and palm from my pants and awkwardly displaying it infront of me, using my own hand as a platter. There were brown spots and prominent veins. Hearst must have only been in his early sixties but his body acted and looked older. He was never a healthy person.

"You are very warm, Seto. Do you know, even as a child you had very warm hands? Do you remember that? Being warm and being a child. I remember."

I stared at the old, feeble hand in my lap until my eyes glazed over. "No. I don't remember."

"You were very sweet, very bright. Of all the ones that have come and gone through the years you-" He then coughed violently, savagely. "You were my favorite."

And then, because I was too warm and sick and swollen I wept, getting the tears all over my face until they flooded my mouth and all I could taste was salt.

I was composed by the time I left the room, chest under my arm. At the end of the hallway in front of the staircase the same woman who had brought me inside waited to see me out. I had already called my limo driver and the only thought I forced through me head as we walked down the stairs together was how long the drive back to Domino would be.

As the woman opened the looming door for me she smiled into herself. "You know, he loved you very very much. He said you were like a son to him".

And as I walked out on my own wobbling rage, my stomach could not longer handle it contents. My driver came out to take the chest from me and as he did so I ran to the edge of the steps. And as the sun was setting in the sky, making the whole dead landscape glow prettily, I hunched over and heaved until the last orange bands of light disappeared back into the earth.

I spent the rest of the late night recovering in the safe solitude of my bed. The chest, like a recluse, lurked in the corner of my room unopened and dangerous. But for now it was out of my sight and so I was ok. To distract myself from Hearst I thought instead of Kaiba Corp. And when I couldn't force myself to think of business anymore I thought of Mokuba, and of calling him and apologizing and asking if he wanted to have dinner with me and maybe we could have a nice conversation and laugh about everything else. And when I could think of Mokuba no more I thought of Joey and his terrifying proximity and what would happen if he could understand what was wrong with me.

The first thing I did in the morning was calling Mokuba.

"Seto?" My name sounded distorted through his yawn.

"Mokuba. I'm sorry."

I heard another yawn. "Oh well. Ok. Thanks. You couldn't have been sorry a little later in the morning?"

Oh. In my eagerness to call him I had forgotten that he (and I suppose he was in the majority here) was not usually awake at 4:30 A.M.

"Sorry, I just, I just wanted to tell you before I forgot."

"Mmmm. Well, thank you. I'm sorry too."

"For what?"

"Well," Mokuba fumbled for a minute "I'm not really sure, I just thought it best that we be even. Look, it's really early!"

I smiled hard. Out of relief. To hear him casually laughing and joking.

"Oh well, I'll let you get back to sleep."

Mokuba made a sound like he was deflating. "Mmmm. But- but it's not because I don't want to talk to you. It's because I'm tired as fuck."

I laughed because there was a light note in his voice. "Hey-" Mokuba implored, "didn't you just tell me I should get more sleep? God, I can't make any sense out of you. "

I laughed harder, until I could feel it in my stomach.

After I was off the phone with Mokuba I spent the next two hours preparing for a budget meeting I had in the morning. Because it was so tedious I kept up a running debate in the back of my mind about whether or not I should call Joey. When I realized what I was doing I felt embarrassed for myself. Acting like a nervous schoolgirl with a crush. Why should I be nervous about calling him? After all, we were "friends" or at least, some semblance of it now. And I didn't have many friends. I had to at least make an effort to see the ones I had. Once I finished my last bit of preparation I picked up my phone. My fingers were on the numbers when I realized that I didn't even have his phone number.

Sure there was an easy solution, I could either call Mokuba or look it up online. Despite my rationalizations I was still too embarrassed to call Mokuba so I did a quick search on Joey's information and easily found the number. In another context it would have been a perfectly reasonable thing to do but it made me feel creepy to be searching him online all the same. I hoped he wouldn't ask, "Kaiba, how'd you get my number?" If he did, I decided I would just lie and say Mokuba gave it to me or better yet, Joey had given it to me and must not remember. I was so prepared for this conversation.

Cautiously I dialed the numbers and waited in suspense as the tone repeated over and over in my ear. Then came the click and a rough voice on the other line saying hello.

"It's Seto. "

"Oh hey Kaiba!" His voice picked up a little. Was he excited that I called? "What's up?"

"I wanted to- well, say it was nice to see you. That other day."

"Oh, yeah well, you too." He sounded uncertain on the other line.

"Yeah well I'm glad you aren't, as annoying as you used to be-" Oh that probably wasn't the socially correct thing to say.

I could hear Joey kind of laugh like he was simultaneously being punched in the stomach. "Look, Wheeler, that came out wrong."

"Don't worry 'bout it. We're all friends now, ain't we?"

"Yes, we are."

"Look, how about we hang out again and I'll um, I'll make you dinner or lunch or something, if that's not…you know…weird."

"That would. Be good. " I was surprised. I kneaded my fingers against each other and hoped I wasn't breathing too loudly over the phone.

"Ok well then, you wanna do it, uh, tomorrow night? Like 8?"

"That sounds perfectly fine Wheeler".

I was tripping over my own thoughts. Happy. I think I was a little bit happy.

I went through the rest of the day effortlessly. It was not until I returned home that I was reminded.

The chest still lay in the corner of my room, peering out from behind my bed and giving me a guilty stare. I felt sick thinking about it, but my curiosity was strong. I knelt beside the chest and with unsteady fingers, began to unlock it. My mind no longer thought about Mokuba, or Kaiba Corp. or Joey. As I began opening it up the chest unleashed a strong, musty odor, familiar to the rest of Hearst's house. Vividly I remembered walking through the long thin hallways as a boy, drinking in the scent. I had found it wildly sophisticated. A house filled with magic and knowledge. I smelled it on all of Hearst's clothes when he walked and sat close to me, telling me things about the universe and exciting my imagination.

The lid of the chest fell backwards and a withered blue blanket, the same one that I had made my bed with years and years ago covered the contents. I gingerly peeled back the blanket.

Underneath I recognized various trinkets and mementos of my later childhood. There were lots of books. There was a book on economic theory that Hearst had bestowed upon me for my thirteenth birthday. Some books were about physics and others about art history but then there were some that were just children's books. Hearst had supplied me with fantasy. He gave me books about dragons and kings and queens. I looked inside the covers of all the books; all of them were signed from Hearst. some with affectionate notes accompanying his signature.

Underneath the layer of books were odd, but significant items. There was a tape measure. I remembered being barely a teenager, still skinny and short as ever. I used to beg Hearst to get out the tape measure and tell me if I had gotten any taller.

He would laugh at me, as I strained on my tippy toes saying "_maybe you will just be a small little thing forever" _and I would nearly cry out in frustration.

But I was tall now. Things were different.

Then there were a few pairs of my old underpants, folded neatly. I picked them up and they felt crusty, having gone unwashed for years. Tucked inside of the underwear were a few strips of photos. Hearst and me. Taken at the amusement park Hearst used to sneak me out to visit when Gozaburo was otherwise distracted. His arm around my shoulders and me smiling like, well, like a child.

The last item was a letter stuffed into a thick envelope with my name written in Hearst's neat scrawl on the outside. I opened the top but couldn't read a thing through my blurry eyes. Quickly I stuffed everything back into the chest, furious at myself for ever opening it and even more furious knowing that I would come back.


End file.
